How Merlin moved to the dungeons
by darknesstohislight
Summary: A drabble-series featuring Merlin the manservant (aka fate's whipping-boy), Arthur the rich Prince (aka royal prat) and many of Camelots beloved citizens (aka herd of blue-eyed fools) being thrown into the devious plots and questionable sanity of Morgana the murderous evil wanna-be mistress of magic (aka, hm pretty accurate title actually). Or "How Merlin got moved to the dungeons"
1. And so it begins

"MERLIN!"

Merlin stops in the middle of the halls.

'Why, this can't be good'.

"MERLIN! What's this?!" Arthur comes stomping angrily, clothes soaked and shoes squeaking against the floor, while holding up a red sopping shirt.

"...Your shirt, sire?"

"Why, of course it is my shirt! But you enlighten me as to why I found it in the CHAMBER POT just before the UNGODLY THING EXPLODED!

"Maybe you'd dropped it and the pot-monster didn't agree with the colour?"

"MERLIN!"

"What? He might be a fashion-fashionista?

"MERLIIIIINNN!"

"Shut... up...?"

"..."

"..Sire?"

"GUAARRDDSS!"

And that's how Merlin finally acquired his own chambers...

In the dungeons.


	2. It continues

A slight distance away from the scene an [not so] inconspicuous [suspicious] shadow [seriously, there's a trail sewn to the cloak] sneaks [she wishes] stealthily [...really?] up from behind a [oh-so-conveniently-placed] stone-pillar and inspects the surroundings inconspicuously [you used that word already] before letting down its hood [can it get anymore cliché?!] and smirks [...yes, it can]... evilly [...sigh...just get on with it].

Rubbing her hands she lets out a cry of vic- [ALRIGHT! Yes, THIS surely must be the "ANTAGONIST", just get to the point!] tory before slipping back into the shadows.

[...]

[...that's it?]

Well, you used up all the words.


	3. A job for just about anyone? I think not

Many a people have claimed to owe the title "most-horrible-job-acquired" and "most-difficult-job-acquired". The majority of these people are surrounded by a stench of gore, perfume and sea-salt. But never has anyone had as much a claim to the title "most-confounding-job-acquired" as the prison guards of Camelot stationed to transport the prince's manservant into the dungeons.

Admittedly they were used to things being confounding, confusing and confabulating, what with dice flinging from the table every fortnight, random barrels tumbling down the stairs once a month and keys mysteriously disappearing sporadically. But this differed.

"I was set-up! I'm NOT a shirt-molester!"

Oh, bother.


	4. Merlin makes himself at home

"ffft.. stupid...jumbling rat-face.. ptth!..pompous pratifying...cobbles..hrrhg...clot-pole!..."

The sound of grumbling half sentences and agitated footsteps stomping on hardened stone and moulding hay echoed densely in the dungeons of Camelot. Had there actually been anyone in the other cells they would surely be reduced to insanity by now, but as there seldom were, the ruckus made by the sole inhabitant disturbed no-one... and was heard by no-one.

Merlin was not pleased.

"That supercilious pig-adorned mule!" He threw up is hands in the air and stomped once more to demonstrate his frustration [to no one what-so-ever watching] before plumping down opposite the 'bed' with a grunt like a thrown potato sack and the attitude of a fit-throwing toddler.

Flaring his nostrils Merlin drummed his fingers impatiently against the bricks while plotting the worst imaginable way to hasten the demise of the current heir of the throne. Destiny be damned, if he wasn't let out soon he would unleash the most horrible, diarrhea inducing, mucus clogging, shame bringing curse ever to have been seen, or so help him god.

Merlin was not pleased.

Another grumble echoed in the otherwise empty dungeons.

And he was hungry.


	5. Gaius ponders where is the leech-tank?

Gaius is a man of great intelligence. He prides himself with his intellect and his study is that of a royal scholar.

It'd been curiously silent lately... indeed, ever since the autumn-feast.

There had been a great absence of accidents, evil plots-

(He picks up a brown flayed jacket and folds it over a chair)

-suspicious maladies, mystical creatures and illnesses over-all this fortnight-

(He folds a red scarf that lay on the still dirty leech-tank)

\- so he'd been able to continue his research undisturbed.

Still, he has a strange feeling in the back of his head that something's amiss...

...

The leech-tank!

...

It need be cleaned.

Gaius nods, satisfied with his thinking process, and continues to fold random colourful abandoned scarves strewn about the room.

Gaius is a man of great intelligence.

Gaius has never said a word about his memory.


End file.
